


The Heart of Christmas

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Curmugdeon Crane, F/M, Fluff, Holiday movie type, Holidays, Romance, The Next Claus, Tropes, cliches, ichabbie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: Abbie Mills is the sole heir to Poleasis, the Kingdom of the North Pole, when her parents retire from being Mr. and Mrs. Claus, Abbie knows it falls to her, to find her soul mate, her match, her One, her Star. For the Heart of Christmas, what keeps the spirit alive and enables to sleigh to fly on Christmas Eve is the powerful magic of Hope and Love.The holidays have never bode well for Ichabod Crane. Love and hope have long since died in his life and he is cynical and skeptic of all things that relate to being merry and good cheer.Abbie's about to arrive in Sleepy Hollow, a mission to find true love by Christmas Eve or there will be no Claus this Christmas.In the midst of this tight timeline, could Abbie find love and save Christmas while also helping the most renown humbug in town Ichabod Crane find the spirit of the holidays?Or, indeed, are they one and the same?





	1. The Last Eve

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow. 
> 
> First chapter is the last Christmas eve run of Abbie's father, a little bit of life at the North Pole.

Merry tinkling bells chime and ring gaily through the air. Year after year after year they have done. With joy and gladness. They celebrate a long tradition of the birth of a saviour. They celebrate hope. They cheer and rage for a safe arrival home.

Year after year, after year, they have done. She has been waiting for him to come home with her mother, since she was small. With her elven friends gathered around her side, watching the magic globe that charts his path as he charges from country to country, pressing a finger to regions and a hazy beautiful image opens up in the sky of him slinking down one chimney and then another. Her mother watches him warmly, a hand on her shoulder and cookies, so many cookies, her mother goes into a baking frenzy this time of year. She tuts that he eats too much of the store bought nonsense that the children leave for him, so she has batches upon batches of proper cookies, chocolate chip, peanut butter, white chocolate, raspberry, even oatmeal and more that she cannot count----they wait for him after the long journey home. But the extras, she nibbles with her friends.

Grace Abigail Mills is the sole living heir toPoleasis. The kingdom of the North Pole.

Magic tingles in her veins. Snowflakes and love and goodwill, it is all hers, a potent gift, a legacy from her mother. There is much lauding and clamouring and praise for the man, jolly as he is, round and red, at this time of year only, he wakes on the morn of the new year, the trim fit man he was before Advent began. They make much of him, all over the world. The heroic journey. But his power, his ability truly, takes wing only on the love that waits for him at home. On his wife's guidance, and values and wonder she has shown him. Her benevolent giving heart.

She gives the man in red, everything. She is his one Star. His match. She found him, many years ago and raised him to something wonderful.

Lori Mills, long ago had ventured out to find the man of her heart, a man she could love abundantly and share this love, spread it through the world in kindness and generosity. Who would work with her for this dream. Be her equal. Her heart. Be his. 

She went forth.

Now, waiting on the eve of Ezra's last run as this grand symbol of cheer, to raucous applause and singing and clamouring as they all rush out to greet him, Abbie emerges from the house last, she feels changed. She has known his retirement would come soon, but with this final landing, she feels as though something has gotten lighter within her, as if a transfer has already begun. There's a warmth in her belly, and she feels a little swirl of ice in her finger tips. Her red dress and shawl flare out around her as she goes into her parents loving arms, hugging them both tightly. "Congratulations on another year, Mama, Daddy."

When they pull back, the world seems crisper and sharper, and there is no doubt in her mind. Her father's reign has ended. Her mother's too. They will retire to the mortal world. And she will begin the journey of learning how to rule Poleasis.

It's all very exciting, and new, a challenge she rises to gladly. 

But also, next December, Abbie goes forth to find her Star, her match.

Her Heart of Christmas.

To find _her,_ Mr. Claus.


	2. Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some musings on love and soulmates, and we meet dear, dear Ichabod Crane.

Every soul, every single last one, is born, with a match. Their intended, across time and space, it might take lifetimes for the two flames to find one another, but find they will. And they will always know, because they will resist.

Finding your One, is not meant to be a welcome happy thing. In theory, of course. But in practice and truth, everyone is afraid, that first time, that they spark with another. That first time when the walls they have built around them self threaten to crumble and the windows threaten to break. That first time, when right feels so good and strong, it cannot possibly be real. They war with it, call themselves undeserving and unworthy. They challenge it and grow suspicious, but every now and again some brave few give in, and are blessed and happy for it, they lead fruitful, bountiful lives.

And the others will wait……until they have learned to open their hearts to the soul that has been stubbornly calling to them, come, sweet, come, love, come you who are cherished in my heart and be mine, and I will be yours. Come, let us be happy. Let us be loving. Let us, be merry.

Unfortunately. It is not just the human, that may grow stubborn. It is life, too, life and its hardships that batter at the trust and willingness of women and men. Life that makes them distrustful and leery of things that shine too bright or bring too much joy. They, they will work harder to find their One. But in most cases, if not all, those loves, those unions, because they have been earned and hard won, they change the world.

The toils and struggles, when they have overcome, allow them to reap incredible rewards.

At least, we hope such can be the case, for all. And if not, the world continues to turn, and the next life time around, they will hopefully get their chance.

But in the end it's best, if when their heart is called, they answer.

* * *

 

His mother died when he was eleven.

A car accident, on her way, to his christmas pageant. He'd been a brat about it all day. Whining, demanding, saying mother don't you dare be late I'll be ever so cross with you. I'll be embarrassed. Mother, don't forget the cookies for after. Mother, my costume has a whole, mother, mother, mother---don't be late!

He was playing Joseph and looking out into the audience, seeing many a pair of eyes but none the kind sweet blue of his mothers. Not her encouraging, wearied smile, she always doted on him and took his fussing in stride. He harangued her but his mother was a model parent, she was never flustered by him, really, she just use to let him prattle on. It hadn't been her fault.

Some man, starting his holiday celebrations too early. Drinking too much and too hard-----

He was in tears the minute he came off stage, crying that his mother had missed his moment in the spotlight, she'd failed him and she swore up and down she wouldn't miss it for the world.

But then one of the teachers had approached. A beautiful, kind eyed woman. Warm dark skin and twinkling eyes. He'd guessed at the time she must be one of the older grade teachers, for he'd never seen her before. She'd laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and bent to be at his level. Though everything within her face and eyes held joy and mirth, there was a glimmer of sadness in them, a moist sheen.

Her voice was warm and sweet like a song, taking his small hands in hers. Explaining to him, softly, why the police had come, the ones that he realized through a blur of tears were standing just a few paces behind.

He'd thought he was crying because his mother had disappointed him.

But by end of the night he'd truly been given something to cry about.

* * *

 

He was sent to live with his father, who though him and his wife had been estranged some years, had still taken news of her death, very hard. His father had never remarried, it hadn't interested him, and Christmas was forever after a solemn mourning time for them both. It was hard to think of joy, when their definition of it, had been laid in earth.

When there was a tree, it was sparse. Nary a bauble, and more rare were garlands and tinsel. Old, old, rustic decorations that could barely stand use anymore hung upon it instead like ghosts,reminders of things come and gone and never to return.

When there was holiday dinner, it was ordered in. They had at least tried to make a tradition of trying some place new each year. They'd gotten a few nasty surprises wandering into spices that hadn't agreed with their bellies straight away,but they had tried to chock those up to memories.

When his father passed-a heart attack--he was nineteen, away at school. There had been no one to go home to, for thanksgiving, and certainly no one to put up their dreary remembering tree, and no one to order takeout with him, and that small holiday tradition of stoically looking into the fire together with a cup of hot chocolate, that too, was laid to rest.

He was invited home that christmas with a peer instead. Worrying that he shouldn't be alone, especially after the loss of his father. Especially now that it was glaringly clear he was well and truly alone for the holidays. Both of his parents had hailed from very small families, both only children.

They'd left him a modest inheritance, but he needed a job if he was going to stay in school.

His friend, Abraham Van Brunt, got him a job their first year, the only thing they could find on short notice at the time…..and very ill conceived….buta job's a job.

Was Santa's workshop.

They were elves. Tights, red and white striped and green velour vests and santa hats set askew on their heads. And children, endless lines of children.

At the start, to stretch his face into a smile and to pipe his voice up an octave too high hadn't seemed too great a task. It was fun and games, to start. Hopping from one foot to the next, waving bells that jingled and jangled on their hands, lifting one wide eyed child after another, and listening to their sweet little high voices chime a litany of things they wanted Jolly Old St.Nick to bring.

Some requests churned his stomach with the vanity of it. New lego and technology. Some doll that burped and peed and pooped. Long lists of toys toys toys. He tried not to grudge them for it, they were but children. But there were a few older ones that repeated the requests, with a disgustingly stubborn air of entitlement. Children, who wanted for nothing but material things, and he had been robbed of his mother at their tender age.

And then came a day when Santa was ill, and it was up to one of them to don the red suit. He'd been inexplicably nominated to fill the role. He'd protested, left and right, mid december the crowds were greater and louder and more rowdy, and he was growing embittered with each passing day with the hassle of all of it, but there was excited chatter waiting outside of Santa's village, and then he was stuffed and padded and bundled out into the quaint cottage, booming in his baritone a false, but convincingly cheery "Ho Ho Ho!"

He grew impatient with the twentieth request for the same robotic toy. "Wouldn't you be just as happy and grateful for your family on Christmas?" he'd asked, he was trying to be sweet, he was trying to encourage the child that gifts are well and nice, but aren't our loved ones just as special?

The little boy had thought for half a second before answering. "But I want the robot."

And some part of his faith in the future had died that day.

He spent a week in the suit, knees sore and grasping for his chin when an excited child tugged his beard. Waddling away from the seat when a toddler had wet themselves in fright. He also learned that while beloved, some children feared all that abundance of fluffy white facial hair, the big red belly like bowl full of jelly. They howled, they screamed, they kicked and struggled. They jumped on his foot in their haste to escape, before the picture had even been taken.

For every dear child, there were ten more that wearied him, and all he remembered at the end was that the holidays made monsters of the young and fools of their parents.

And him too, parading around in costumes to uphold the validity of a myth.

Rewards for being good and kind through the year, indeed.

He'd been an anxious and mouthy child, sure, he'd admit. But he hadn't been naughty.

And he'd been rewarded well for these past holiday seasons hadn't he.

Poppycock, rubbish.

_Bull._

* * *

 

There was betrayal on Christmas once, too. Abraham had fallen for a wraith of a redhead. Who's frame was lithe but her face pinched around smiles, as if she preferred to contain her emotions than show them. Abraham had gotten engaged to her, of all things. He was egregiously cheerful that year. Loathsome in his joy. Traumatized him with notions of decking the halls while he did just that, singing boisterously at the top of his lungs. Slinging garlands around his shoulder while regaling him with all the plans he had for his Christmas bride----a Christmas wedding. A compounding of events that had given him a righteous headache at mention of it. But there he was, to be the best man at a winter celebration of love. The joining of his best friend, to this icy queen who, if he was being honest, seemed at times to look at him too much, too closely.

In the final days of preparation the bride to be began to meander at his side. Lingering as he grudgingly decorated the massive towering tree that was suppose tobe the backdrop of Abraham's nuptials. Fingers brushing over a christmas ball.

"Sorry, Ichabod,"

"It's fine," he grit out.

"Are you always so dour, at christmas?"

"Whatever reason do I have not to be."

She'd tossed her hair over her shoulder and shot at him the most horrifying smirk. Something that spoke of confidences he most assuredly did not wish to share with her. "Katrina, if you don't mind." he excused himself, side stepping around her, balanced on the ladder as she reached upwards so he could hang an ornament in the back.

"It just seems to me, you are the definition of a humbug. And perhaps, it's because you're jealous?"

He'd scoffed. "Whatever of, Katrina. Frivolous time of year. So much singing and gifts and now this nonsense." he gestured encompassing the hall they were decorating.

"Well that you don't have someone of your own. That you're going to be alone more now, at the holidays. But Abe and I will always gladly have you over."

"You are too kind." he'd replied through grit teeth.

"You're wel---oh!"

The scrape of the ladder and a half a scream and he dashed around the tree just in time to catch her, breaking her fall. Her eyes were wide and starry,darting all over his face, breathing rapidly before she'd done the unthinkable thing.

Grabbing his face in her hands, she'd fit her lips over his. She kissed him.

He dropped her.

"What are you doing!"

"I…..I'm sorry, Ichabod, I don't know what…. what came over me,"

"I know what. You're here, marrying my best friend this week and yet I've caught you watching my every move. You're using him!"

"I….I….." she'd stammered. "I feel there could be something between us….."

"A proper restraining order I assure you!"

"You're so closed off to everyone, I just…."

"You think I'm a puzzle to be solved!" he'd shrieked incredulously. "And at the expense of my life long best friend? You get married this week!"

"Not if you want this," she'd countered, rocking to her feet with frightening speed, grasping for his collar. He staggered back.

"Want what!"

"Us," she insisted backing up until his feet tripped up and down they went crashing to the floor and she was on top of him as she struggled and scrambled to keep him still. "Look at me, Ichabod."

His eyes were scrunched tight in refusal.

"Look at me, maybe there's something here, don't you feel it?"

He'd opened his eyes, only to glare at her, but then her hand was caressing his cheek and she was closer than he wanted her to be and----

"What is the meaning of this?!"

Like a shot, Katrina was off him, flustered and trying feebly to offer apologies to Abraham. "It's not what it looks like, Abe, we fell and….."

"And what!" he demanded. "And you, Ichabod, I thought you were my friend"

"Abraham do not tell me you are about to take this harpies words over mine. I have been nothing but stalwart to you. She kissed me and then made desperate pleas to begin a relationship."

"Ichabod!"

" ** _Did I lie!_** " he roared. "You have taken advantage Abraham's good heart and ruined his Christmas. And mine. I'll always remember that even all this good will to men could not fend off the false hearted likes of you. You have made a mockery of love. Of him, of me, and yourself."

He'd stormed out of the room.

The wedding was called off. It took a few days before him and Abraham could speak. Abraham had needed time to grieve his shattered engagement. Savouring for the first time his own taste of holiday disappointment.

And Ichabod Crane had needed time away to consider himself.

He'd been pursued before but Katrina's sudden rabid force had rankled him. She'd called him closed off.

Well clearly he had reason to be…..suppose he had been charming? She'd have pounced on him perhaps weeks ago.

It was clear then there was something Katrina had been lacking with his dear friend, otherwise why make that desperate mad bid for Crane's affections? why sabotage her own possible happiness?

* * *

 

Perhaps because Abraham was not Katrina's match, and she hadn't known how else to back away from it. She had opened her self to Abe, yes, sure, she had tried, because she wanted this belonging and family and love so much, but still always there was a corner of her heart in which it had rung false. She was relieved, in all honesty, to be so quickly and hurriedly released from her promise, and Abe's infinite kindness to disband all the preparations himself.

* * *

 

But that still left behind Abe, a man now a little cautious and smarting of the betrayal, the preference his intended had shown toward the friend he viewed as a brother.

And in Crane, left behind another bitter taste in his mouth around the holidays.

* * *

 

"Bye bye!"

"Farewell!"

"Bye bye!"

"Abbie-Claus!"

"Abbie!"

"Bye bye!"

"Alright alright settle down all of you." Abbie fusses warmly looking down on the assembly come to see her and her travel companion off. Cynthia waits by the Rednose, an affectionately named red car, after their starring reindeer Rudolph, down at the gates. Like her, Cynthia is dressed in a billowing red dress of velvet and a cloak that fastens at her throat. What makes Abbie's garb differ is the fluffy white thick trim around the edges, and the muff in which she shoves her delicate gloved hands. She is chased after by elven children chittering cheerful goodbyes and her lifelong friends, older and wiser now, calling happily behind her their best wishes.

At the bottom long set of stairs, waits her parents. Ezra Mills is his usual form now. The Advent season no longer triggers that ballooning of his form into something jolly and gay. It is strange to her, to see him unchanged on December first. No more will the beard sprout. No more will his laugh inevitably descend into the deep bellowing warm 'Ho Ho Ho' No longer will time stop for him, and her mother, who have stalled here in Poleasis for many years. It is bitter sweet, that her rise means they must go home. So far from her. "Daddy," she smiles and he folds her in his embrace. Kissing her crown. "Christmas eve," he cautions. "At this time of year, the calling of our hearts is strongest, the magic at its best, so I know the time is short, Abbie, but you must find him by Christmas eve. Your Star."

"My One." She answers, she smiles even though inside her heart flutters with nerves. Abbie knows love, but not the forever romantic kind she is being sent forth to find now in that broad vast world out there….she draws small comfort that her mother had already suggested a place to visit first. The place Lori had found Ezra.

The town of Sleepy Hollow.

Abbie bobs her head at him and he smiles, eyes twinkling---that at least is his and his alone, and steps aside so she will have a moment with her mother.

Clasping hands, Lori escorts Abbie down the path to the waiting car, Ezra and the farewell procession tripping noisily behind.

"If you have questions," Lori murmurs. "Ask them now."

Abbie stops, swallows around the lump in her throat before she asks,"How did you know it was daddy?"

Her mother's gaze is fond and distant with memory. "He was grumpy, dour, and mad at everything." she laughs. "He hated it. Scowling at the world……but when he looked at me, he smiled."

Abbie begins to laugh, a tear blinking from between her lashes. Lori reaches to thumb it away.

"I knew because when he met me, he believed, Abbie. And I believed, more than I ever thought I could. That is the foundation, of all of this." she whisper excitedly. "Of Christmas. It's about hope, love, and when your father and I found each other, that grew, exponentially between us. It's what made us, the perfect pair all these years. Once you have found joy, you can spread it. Change lives, the world. I wish for you, Abbie girl, my one, precious daughter. That you find the truest love, that your heart will call and someone will answer. You have until christmas eve. That love, that magic is the only thing that will let the sleigh fly." Her expression falters for a minute, the looming threat of a Christmas without a Claus hangs over them all if Abbie doesn't complete this task. But for now they send her off warmly to find the sort of happiness that she can share with the globe after. For all of the years in her reign.

"Are you ready?"

Abbie straightens her spine, throwing back her shoulders and breathing in deep. She winks at Lori and Lori winks back. They turn to the crowd.

"We are gathered here on this night, to send our one and only Grace Abigail Mills out into the world beyond, to find the magic and the Heart of Christmas. Fly bright, fly true, and may your days, be Merry and Bright."

Bells begin to ring and chime, the crowd erupts with cheers and a few break ranks, rushing forward to embrace her before she goes.

"Make sure he's handsome," Sophie, head of navigational team, teases.

"Make sure he's kind!" Caroline laughs, head seamstress, she fusses, dusting snow off Abbie's cape..

"Make sure he's smart!" This from Joe, their medic.

Tinkering one last time under hood of the Rednose, Ash, yes, their mechanic, tosses back a long black mane of hair and flashes a rare bright smile. "Make sure he's brave. Weak men aren't meant to fly my sleighs."

"Abbie," Cynthia chides, a smile hiding in the corner of her mouth. "We've got to get going."

With one last turn she blows kisses and waves, last hugs to her mother and father as she gets in the car, bundled in beside Cynthia who waves out the window as she starts the engine.

"To Sleepy Hollow," Cynthia grins.

Determination setting in her shoulders, twinkling in her eye, Abbie returns her companions smile. "To Sleepy Hollow."


	3. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Cynthia land in Sleepy Hollow.

The Rednose glides through the sky just at the crack of dawn, landing out in a clearing of four glimmering bright white trees. It's misty and there's a light chill in the air as they land and skid a little on the ground. Cynthia squeals a little as the car bumps and jolts to a halt but Abbie beside her laughs, clear and ringing like bell. "Oh that was fun!" Abbie gushes wickedly as she releases the wheel---the one she commandeered from Cynthia almost the minute they were out of sight from home----and unlatches her seat belt.

"You drive like a maniac." Cynthia huffs. "You drive like Rudolph when he's been in the nog. You drive like….."

"My father when he's had too many cookies?" Abbie wheedles. Cynthia pinches the bridge of her nose but can barely suppress a fond snicker.

It's a renown fact that Ezra drove wilder and progressively more playful the more cookies he'd been into over the course of a night. One year the reindeer had all come trotting in looking both exhilarated and disoriented by his sudden penchant for zig zags and loop de loops. Ash hadn't been impressed with the sleigh scuffs either.

"Exactly like your father on too many cookies. Frank always use to say if he weren't the man in red he'd have a fine so high it'd pay for the elves vacation." She continues to chuckle until her voice trails off. "I remember the year…."

"That he challenged daddy to a race." Abbie recalls, gone a little sober herself.

At Poleasis, there had been her father, The Claus and Frank Irving, The List Maker. Ezra double checked the list, sure, but it was Frank who kept tabs on everyone. Everyone. Travelling to and fro, meandering between boundaries of a static life in the north, and the constant time passing world of everywhere else. Keeping people safe, upholding laws. It's rough work, what he did,at the rate he did it, aged him faster, all that time and globe hopping on a regular basis. Took more rigorous tolls then it had on Ezra, basking in the immortality that the mantle of Claus had afforded him.

After all this time they developed the technology to have more efficient and less harrowing means, to compile info and to disperse the work accordingly. The've recruited more agents who are willing to be Allies to Christmas. A process that took long convincing and rigorous vetting, of course lead by Frank himself,that they could be trusted with the secrets of the North Pole. But the change all still too late for Frank.

When Frank had begun service to Poleasis he was a ripe forty two. Twenty some odd years of work, his body that of eighty-five. Cynthia, who'd never had much reason to travel between realms, had ceased aging after they had wed. She'd never had such need for bouncing to and fro as her late husband--the man who died in his enduring stalwart service to the North Pole. His job now is carried on by hundreds, when he had shouldered the burden so long, and if she's to be bitter about it, Frank had insisted.

She had loved him with all her heart but he had been a stubborn mule of a man in his dedication to the cause. Three years out from when he was laid in the ground back in the earthly realm--seems a small coincidence and one she doesn't relish to linger on, that his own hometown had been Sleepy Hollow, Cynthia oddly finds herself travelling out for the first time since his burial, and entertaining a visit to the grave.

But that is all something for her to put aside because her mission now, is to see her charge, her younger dear friend, Abbie, be successful in her quest. "No time for reminiscing, we've got to get to our lodgings." She shakes Abbie's shoulder, motioning for them to switch back seats so she can maneuver the car out of the white tree clearing.

* * *

 

"Good morning Ichabod,"

The man, Ichabod Crane, shock of golden brown hair, very recently cut and ears a tad pink from the cold outside looks askance at the speaker as he shakes out the paper that had been tucked primly under his arm. " _Ach,_ "

The man behind the counter chuckles. "You know, they've been begging you to play scrooge down at the playhouse, you ought to do them the favour, you'd be a natural at it."

"I've little patience to be properly annoyed at you, Sheriff,"

August takes a swig of his coffee. They're at the Frederick, the place where Crane keeps a permanent room, he's so often harassed and harangued by students and publishers, he preferred if her could divert them here, rather than his remote home on the other side of town, a modest cabin.

Besides which, he grudgingly boasts part ownership of the place, a venture he'd been similarly harangued into by-- "Sheriff do tell me you're not trying to give away my role." A jovial voice booms as he descends the stairs. Abraham Van Brunt. Scholar and professor like Ichabod, but given more to the performing arts than Crane had deigned, even though everyone recalled Crane had a gift for it. Abraham was the musician, truly, but enjoyed spectacle and could dedicate himself to frivolity in a way Crane had long since lost patience for.

He was rather content in the drudgery and curmudgeon he had worked so hard in forging over the course of the past few years, the tedium of shedding that well loved cloak of misery to play at someone else's life---source material be damned---did not enchant him, in the least.

"You can keep all of those ghosts for yourself, Abe, I assure you you're better suited to the haunting. Now if the Sheriff would stop meddling in my affairs."

"Of which he has none," Corbin drawls, amused.

Crane's nostrils flare with indignation. "Sheriff you know there is a dining room for a purpose, I invite you to enjoy your coffee, there," he hedges.

Chortling still, in a way that made Crane's skin prickle August grab his cup and saunters past Abraham who reaches for his coat hung up in the rack. "I'm stepping out for a bit, can you watch the desk?"

Crane grunts. "And where is Zoe?"

"She starts late on Fridays Crane, you know this."

"I know I agreed to invest in this venture with you under the circumstances that I would not in any way be expected to engage with it."

"Bloody---" Abe starts and then takes a deep breath. "Holidays are starting up---"

" _Ach!_ "

"And, it's a profitable time of year for us, you, especially if you recall, the people love nothing more than your rendition of the Night before Christmas."

"A tradition I parted ways with, Abraham."

Abe clenches his hands irritably. "I'm trying to line up some events for the weeks leading into Christmas. We are a sort of hub for it around here."

"A badge of honour you wear proudly--listen, I am merely an investor here with a permanent room. I commend you on your insistence, for all the good fortune the season has brought you," he sneers, "To continue to strive to find, positive light, in it, but I beg you leave me out of your plans. As you have done, year after year, and I beg you, spare me the frustrating amount of energy it takes for me to convince you to leave me alone. I want no part, Abraham. No part, whatso---"

The bell dings overhead then and a blustering flurry of snow drifts into the doorway. The room illuminates sharply with bright crisp light and both men for a moment shield their eyes. When the light finally fades, Abe blinks widely, dumbfounded, and Crane forgets his next few words.

Out of the haze emerges the handsome pair, in all of their beautiful rich red finery. One tall, one short, twinkling eyes and dark hair. Both different in feature but the same in that they carry about them something very, other.

Crane's mouth goes dry as the shorter one's eyes flicker to him and she strides quickly forward. "Grace Abigail Mills and my companion Cynthia Irving, but call me Abbie,"

Crane blinks down at her, mouth opening and closing quietly. Abbie looks up at him expectantly with a pleasant smile stretched across her face, one that begins to pinch unsurely the longer the man simply, gawks at her. It's Abraham who jolts first, wedging himself quickly behind the desk. "Sorry were your rooms under Mills or Irving?"

"Neither," Cynthia informs him smoothly. "They were made by our friend, August Corbin?"

Something that rings of familiarity enables Crane to blink rapidly and close his mouth, coughing politely into his hand to clear his throat. "Corbin?" he repeats, voice strained and feeling a little warm, he can't seem to take his eyes off her.

"A family friend," Cynthia explains, watching him with one eyebrow raised. He's talking now at least, but his transfixed gaze on the heiress in her care makes her a little uneasy. "You are?"

"Lost in your eyes," he murmurs softly to the woman before him. Abbie's smile has relaxed and her eyes twinkle at him as she gives a soft laugh. That snaps him again and bristling Crane straightens his posture. "Iggabod--- _ahe-he-hurm_! Ichabod, Crane."

"A pleasure," Abbie beams, offering her hand to shake. As if under a spell Crane lifts his own to take it, and dips down, bowing over her hand, a gesture that makes Cynthia's brows lift now in interest and utterly startles his best friend behind the counter who drops the keycard in shock.

"Damn," Abraham curses, glancing down behind the counter and then over to see where the key skittered off too. Cynthia tears her eyes from Abbie and Crane to check for the key herself, eyes skimming the floorboards until, there it is---

"Oh," she mutters, pulling her hand back sharply as her fingers glance off Abraham. They both rise to their feet and Abe smiles softly at her.

His eyes shine and she shifts uncomfortably. Has no one ever told these men it's rude to stare?

"I'm not usually so…."

"Clumsy," Cynthia supplies off handedly, unreasonably annoyed. His barked laugh in return makes her cheeks warm.

"Well I do like when people are blunt," Abe grins. "Well you've got the key, how about I grab your bags and show you to your rooms?"

"Wonderful, Abbie, come let's, Abbie?" she checks over her shoulder and finds the two are still locked in some staring contest of the ages. "I'll….Abbie I'll be back soon, don't…. _Grace!_ " she hisses.

Abbie turns slowly. "I won't run off Cynthia, find our rooms, I'll order something hot to drink. You have a dining room here?"

"Yes!" Crane hears himself pipe eagerly, much to his dismay. "I could show you---"

"Wait I think I know that voice."

"August," she gushes warmly, rushing to the Sheriff's side as her emerges from the dining room, engulfing her in a bear hug. The image properly resets him back to his prior disposition. Impermeable grump.

"Look at you, girl."

"I haven't seen you since," Abbie starts and shakes his head vigorously, a slight nod to their present company and Ichabod bristles. Imagine keeping secrets from him in his own establishment.

"Let's talk more inside, come on, tell me about the trip." he ushers Abbie forward ahead of him but then hangs back"Crane?"

"Sheriff, Corbin."

"I know you've got a cookie stash, spare a few?"

"My, _assortment,_ " Crane starts.

August nods head back the way Abbie had gone. "She's a connoisseur herself, you could say. Come on, help endear her to the place."

The idea of endearing the charming Abbie in any form uncomfortably excites him but it's easier to remain snippy and stoic. "And why should I care to endear anyone Sheriff, you know me,"

"I do, and I know you like good business. I know Van Brunts gotrounds to make drumming up events here for the holidays."

"Bah."

"I've got the director at the playhouse on speed dial you'd really be a shoe in for the role."

"Continue your proposition, Sheriff."

"I know these girls, Abbie and Cynthia. If anyone is going to have ideas for Christmas, it'll be them. I can't think of anyone else suited for the job. You could tell Abe to look no further."

"Their qualifications?"

August rummages for his card to pay for the rooms, handing it to Crane.

Crane blinks down at it as he shuffles to the machine, the unusual red and white border that edges around the card, like a candy cane. NP Mastercard. He's never heard of it. He levels a questioning gaze at August.

August winks. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."


	4. Thaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe shows Cynthia to their rooms.   
> Abbie catches up with August.   
> Crane may be beginning to thaw.

"Here we are," Abe flings the door open with a flourish and heaves their trunks over the thresholds. It's the best suite they have.It was spacious, a common room, and kitchen and her room and Abbie on opposite ends. Abe set the bags down on the plush rug and without any provoking begins to stoke the fire in the hearth that took centre stage of the room. Finishing that he went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling a bottle and then glasses down from the cupboards. Cynthia eyes him as she removes her cloak and hangs it in the closet, watching as he pours into each glass and then comes around the bar offering one to her. She accepts it and then sniffs

"Sparkling water," he supplies. "A Fredericks Welcome, there's a glass there for….."

"Abbie,"

"Abbie. What….what brings you here, to Sleepy Hollow? you seem very…..festive."

"We were informed, by our friend, Sheriff August Corbin, that you're looking for an event planner."

"You're here for a job?" Abe blinks, astonished.

Cynthia takes a sip and muses to herself. Finding the heir to the North Pole a husband is indeed a sortof 'job' "In a word."

"You're hired!"

Cynthia flusters. They'd had papers drawn and everything just in case to ensure cover. August had been one of the first men to survive Frank's process as an Ally to Christmas. He'd been working and reporting for them since the inception of the program. He's their contact here, and they had been planning this sojourn to a T, to avoid suspicion of her arrival, to organize optimal circumstances to encourage christmas spirit but also to lure out willing open hearts…..and here was all of that work, thwarted, by an enthusiastic business man. Others might say smitten, but thats a word Cynthia refuses to admit to her vocabulary.

"I…I thank you,"

"You look like you know what you're doing." Abe assures her, eyes panning down over her red dress. "I mean, if you said you came from the North Pole yourself, I'd believe you!"

"Ha ha!" Cynthia laughs nervously. "Ha ha _ha ha_ **_ha!_** Well, I thank you,"

"Abraham Van Brunt, Call me Abe," he rumbles warmly.

"Mr. Van Brunt." she counters willfully. "I thank you for the…..warm, welcome, and my associate and I look forward to beginning work, soon."

"Fantastic! Great! well, I….I don't have to head out at all then! On with my day!"

"Yes," Cynthia encourages, opening the door. " _On_ with it!" she beams and then closes the door with a sigh of relief, leaning heavily on it. She drains her glass and then finishes off the one that was left for Abbie, she meanders over to the couch and takes out her phone, pretty high tech red thing.

"Hello? Cynthia?"

"We've arrived, Lori,"

"Good, Where's Abbie? I want to hear what she thinks."

"I'm going to look for her now,"

"Look for her?"

"I wouldn't get too excited yet, but there's an irritable man downstairs that couldn't seem to function when she walked in the room. Now I need to go downstairs and make sure…..well that everything is normal…..Lori the men are very strange here. Their eyes sparkle a lot."

Lori's voice trills on the other end. "Oh dear, Cynthia you've gone strange."

"I beg your pardon"

"Keep us posted with your progress, glad you reached safe. May your days be Merry and Bright."

"Yours too." Cynthia replies and ends the call. She places her phone back in the pocket of her dress, marvellous invention, dresses with pockets, only Caroline could manage a way to fit beyond the standard two in a dress, so artfully concealed---she rummages in another pocket for her compact,in fact a small little circular surface that expands in her hand. A wintery landscape blusters in it's surface as she admires her reflection among the flurry of flakes. Nota hair out of place. Nodding her satisfaction the mirror shrinks back down to size and she begins to unpack. She'd like to get out of her travelling dress. She's sure Abbie's caused enough of a stir in garb, and as is Abbie's debut so to speak, it's suited if Cynthia change so as not to compete for attention.

To be adorned in red head to foot at home is common place. Here? Well if the owner of Fredericks is any indication, what was his name? Gabe? Peoples minds are easily excited here.

All the better for her charge. Her pulls out a more demure soft green dress instead, something that blends more into the background. She brushes her locks and then checking her phone sends a quick message to Abbie.

* * *

 

"August we miss you back home," Abbie gushes as she takes her seat. He hadn't been back to the pole since Frank Irving had passed, delivering his last reports. August was one of Frank's agents, and never did the amount of realm travelling Frank had done, for the most part his service to Poleasis has left him much unchanged. He's getting on in years now, as it were anyway, and acts more as correspondent, delegating to his force.

"Miss you all too, miss my boy as well, how is Joe."

"I think he's got a crush on Caroline," Abbie snickers.

Joe had been force recruited to the pole, it had been easier to welcome into the fold as their medic than to have August sneaking around him. And much to everyones joyful surprise Joe took to life at Poleasis extremely well. They're all the better for him there.

"Should I hope to hear wedding bells?"

"I did say a crush, August," Abbie counters, just as her phone dings. She glances at it. "That's Cynthia, she's settled and coming down to join us."

"You did, but if I'm not mistaken Mills, _your_ nuptials are the ones we're expected to celebrate, and soon."

Her face colours and she ducks her head. "Well, yes, there is that."

"Well, yes there is that," August mimics and then laughs. "And it's an important matter, now I've already put in good word for you with the resident fuss pot you met earlier, and ahh, here comes our cookies."

"Cookies?" Abbie is a little shocked at the amount of excitement that lights through her at the thought. She's grown up on cookies and they are certainly a beloved part of her childhood and her celebration of the holiday, but her sudden single minded elation for the treats is new. Must be another quirk of Claus magic. Her mother use to snack on half the amount she would make herself, both parents gripped with a sudden need for sweets.

Chuckling he points over her shoulder where a young woman comes bustling over to the table. "Here we are!" she chimes.

"Thank you Zoe, thank Crane, will you?"

"You can thank me yourself," the warm prim voice resonates from behind Zoe Corinth and she nearly spooks if not for Abbie reaching to take the tray from her and setting it down. Ichabod Crane side steps around as she flusters and hurries back to the front desk.

"Well," August bobs his head. "Thank you Crane for the generosity." he reaches toward the plate but Crane settles himself down in a seat quickly and lifts it out of reach, offering it to Abbie instead.

"Ladies first, Sheriff." he murmurs, willing himself to remain calm and cool even though having those brown twinkling eyes on him once more seems to make the temperature in the room climb. Abbie offers another dazzling smile before reaching for one, a simple chocolate chip and takes a bite. It's the most adorable precious bite he's ever witnessed in his life. She licks her soft pink lips to catch crumbs and giggles when they fall in her skirt as she snatches up even those little bits and licks chocolate from her fingers.

Yes, the room is too warm. His vision begins to swim. 

"Are you alright?"

Ice.

He jumps, glancing down at the hand that has wrapped around his wrist. Dainty brown delicate hand with slender dear fingers. Hegulps.

"Y-y--yes, quite," he stammers as Abbie withdraws her hand and he contemplates whether or not he really did see frost dancing at her fingertips.

"You looked ready to faint."

"It's rather warm, Miss Mills, I should perhaps investigate the furnace."

"I'm not warm." Corbin says, helping himself to the plate while Crane is distracted.

Crane glares daggers at the man who merely gives him a sly and knowing look in turn. "At any rate," Crane continues. "Sheriff Corbin tells me you're interested in helping plan…..festivities," he spits, disgusted. "For the christmas season."

"Yes we…."

"Have been hired." Cynthia announces, pulling out a chair for herself. Crane along with several other patrons blink. Perhaps all of them thinking that the pair of women are the embodiment of christmas themselves.

"Pardon me," he interrupts, hands twitching as she too reaches for a biscuit and Abbie has had only the one, now sipping indulgently from a cup of hot chocolate.

"Your partner, hired us. We discussed it upstairs."

Abbie and the two men level curious glances her way at the phrasing until Cynthia feels eyes on her and her face heats. "Showing me to our room!" she huffs indignantly. "He asked why we were here and I told him and he hired us, Abbie you should change,"

"She's _not done her cookies_ ," Crane fires back.

Corbin leans back in his chair, amused.

"She can take them with her upstairs to get settled, right Abbie?"

Abbie spies a round morsel that looks as though it has fruit filling before replying. "We do have a lot of work to do,"

"All work and no play makes jack a dull boy," Crane says seriously.

Cynthia purses her lips and knits her brow, about to retort when another entry to the dining room disrupts them and oh, it's him.

"Miss Irving!"

" _Gabe_ ,"

"Abe," he corrects gently and offers her his hand which she stares at, perplexed. "I'm going to give you a tour! Tell you a bit about the events we've had years past and get the cogs turning."

Cynthia has no intention of taking a guided tour with Abe but suddenly she feels a cool palm pushing at her arm, ice dancing so cold it burns as it lances into her elbow and she leaps from her seat, shooting a glare at Abbie who merely smiles sweetly back. Well there she is, on her feet, and her sudden rise landed her hand securely in that of Abe's, and before she can protest, he's leading her out of the room to show her the grounds.

"I'm going to get you." Cynthia mouths.

Abbie watches her friend disappear, tickled, and takes a bite, enjoying the sweetness of the fruit filling and then remembering she's not alone catches Crane still eying her. Plate held aloft in his hand. Corbin is still there as well, he smirks, clears his throat and makes a subtle exit.

She polishes off that one and reaches for another and all Crane does is gaze at her, watching her eat. She swallows after finishing the fourth. "Would you show me around town? Since Abe is showing Cynthia the grounds here? we might hold some off site events?"

"Hmmm?" Crane asks dreamily, lost in a reverie. There's an odd expression on his face that Abbie belatedly registers is a smile. It's unpracticed and strained, but a smile nonetheless.

* * *

 

"How did you know it was daddy?"

Her mother's gaze is fond and distant with memory. "He was grumpy, dour, and mad at everything." she laughs. "He hated it. Scowling at the world……but when he looked at me, he smiled."

* * *

 

The swirls of winter magic that lingers in her fingers gutters to a warmth that she feels flood her cheeks. She's only met him today and what are the odds that the first man she crosses could be him, but….well he's rather, _handsome_ , her mind supplies helpfully. With icy blue eyes like the glaciers at home, and, he's **_smiling_** , at me.

"Crane?"

"Hmm? oh!" he sets down the plate hurriedly and a sudden storm cloud resettles on his face as he remembers himself. "Yes I suppose, so you can wreak havoc more efficiently there as well. I'm sure you have a number of nauseating ideas. Come, Miss Mills." he rises swiftly and offers his arm. He stares pointedly straight ahead, as if determined to ignore her, even as she slips her delicate arm over his. There's a faint chill to her fingertips, but given how unexpectedly warm her proximity makes him, he doesn't question it.

They step out into the chilled air and Abbie inhales deeply the freshness of it into her lungs. Crane beside her does the same and she watches a small secret smile tug at the corner of his lips. As if he's remembering something but doesn't dare let anyone else know. Something about the winter air isbeloved to him.

"Let's go to the Archives first," he suggests, a little smug. He adores the place personally, but knows how much it can bore a newcomer. He fully intends to bore this wonderfully bright and beautiful young woman to tears so as she may take all of her holiday cheer elsewhere. That's why he suggests this place.

Not for a minute because it's a private place filled with things he holds dear and he finds himself wanting….to….share, parts of himself with this virtual stranger. Certainly not because of that. Abbie looks up at him and the sun light dances in her hair. Those eyes. Dear **_Heaven_** , he thinks, feeling a head rush but steels himself so he doesn't just melt right there before her.

"Lead the way, Crane."

And away they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abbie has the gift of winter, that's part of her magic, she doesn't always feel like ice, no. But she can summon ice etc if she has need and it lingers a little bit after use.


	5. I Fail to Understand.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something peculiar happens as Abbie and Crane enter town.  
> Abe and Cynthia tour Fredericks.  
> We end at the archives.

Their route was neither straight nor swift.

Ichabod Crane is used to, and _expects_ to be accosted by students, publishers, fellow scholars, acquaintances, though it has never been his ambition, he has unwittingly become a cornerstone figure of Sleepy Hollow. He's known for being witty. He's known for being eccentric and for dressing a little out of the norm on occasion if it suits him. They all know him to be verbose if one is unfortunate enough to catch him on a topic of which he is particularly fond, and they know him to scowl and sneer at nearly all seasonal holidays, christmas especially. But yet, he fascinates them with his mind, and if one is pursuing academia, he is in fact very helpful. And he's smart, the blasted man is very smart and has an enviable memory. Helping to run the popular Inn also makes him a beacon for enterprising individuals, even though they will often find themselves redirected to the more approachable partner, Abraham Van Brunt.

For all of these reasons, there is seldom a day, when, wanted or not, Crane will be greeted and held up from his schedule by someone intercepting him to chat, about something. Or proposition him. He shudders. Too many women, some disturbingly older and fixated on his hands and hair, have tried to entice him to one on one reading sessions or tea, or to be blunt, to spend a night together. His skin crawls to call upon the memory.

Today however, he finds the flock descends on them not for the least of which it being quick but also a thick surprising crush of people and he finds himself going very still in shock as the crowd stretches on into the distance. But what really startles him, is they do not ask of his next book or to recount a lecture.

They're riveted by the new comer, shimmering bright and glowing in red,Abbie.

Their faces all wreath with smiles and they wave enthusiastically and shout and call welcomes with a fervour that should be alarming the young woman but Abbie merely stops, her arm still coiled around his and smiles at them widely in return, greeting them all happily.

By **_name._**

"Samantha, you look well."

"Everett, how's that knee?"

"Josie! little Josie, how pretty you are!" this to a springy black haired girl with caramel skin and round brown eyes. For this one Abbie releases him and scoops the little girl easily into her arms. It's as if a gate has opened. The adults clear a path and suddenly there is a stream of children rushing towards her. Their excitement is palpable and Abbie's laugh is robust and joyous as they crowd around her. Crane is jostled out of the way by the masses, watching in a mix of awe and horror as she is surrounded by the children, she sets down one, and calls for another, they squeal joy as she lifts them, turning their little heads to whisper in her ear and she winks and nods seriously at each one of these impromptu confidences before releasing back to the waiting arms of their parents.

The people around all seem to be filled with a sort of starry eyed warmth as they watch her, and Crane is flabbergasted by the display.

"Trey!"

"How do you know my name?" the little imp, he's a darling boy really, dark skin with thick curled hair braided neatly along his scalp, but Crane feels himself growing jealous of the young man that she beams at so intently, a hand resting on her knee.

She winks at him. "Why, I heard about you when you won your school race! you came in first, didn't you?"

"I did!"

"Good for you!"

Crane mumbles to the nearest adult. "What is the meaning of this, do you _all_ know her?"

The man shrugs helplessly. "I sure don't…..but…..doesn't she feel, familiar?"

"She does," a woman agrees, the mother of the springy haired girl. "Like…like a friend I knew."

"An old confidant."

"Someone who listens."

"Someone who cares," others begin to pipe up and agree, all seemingly undisturbed by their children's sudden and rapt fascination with the stranger.

"….I feel like she knows me, or like I've known her for years, she has….an aura about her."

"She's so pretty!" Trey exclaims as he goes streaking back to his father's side.

His dad chuckles, leading him away. "She is, isn't she son."

"She's so nice!"

"She knew my name!" the others call as they finally begin to peel away, and Abbie rises from the knelt position she'd assumed, shaking out her skirts and throwing back her shoulders glides once more back to Crane's side.

"Sorry," she apologizes breezily. As if that was a natural thing.

Adoring masses and all.

"H-h-how---" he gestures distractedly at the dispersing group, looking over his shoulder as she begins to tug him along, now a little insulted that not one of them had wanted to see him at all. He'd been entirely forgotten in the mad throng of it.

"This time of year, brings out the warmth in people." Abbie grins, oblivious to his confusion. "Wonder, gratefulness, love. This is the time of year when people should be the most open and kind"

"Is that how you're going to explain that?" He asks, bewildered, his feet catch and he stumbles but Abbie grips him and keeps him steady. He's surprised by her strength.

"It's Christmas" because that explains everything.

"But, y-y-you knew their **_names_** …."

Abbie turns her eyes up to him, studying him for but a moment before she touches the side of her nose and winks one eye shut. It's an adorable if not absurd gesture and he's about to comment on it before his mind goes entirely blank.

"Where are we." he asks, looking around. "Where are we going, what are we doing here?"

"You volunteered to show me the Archives,"

She watches him carefully, wondering if this stubborn dear man's mind is about to rally at the forgetfulness she bestowed on him, when he swallows twice and nods slowly, adjusting.

"R-r-right. T-t-t-this, _waaaaay_." He still seems leery and a bit suspicious but he continues to lead them down the streets, pointing out establishments and rambling bits of history. He knows that the people who stop and point and wave at them, no her, makes him uneasy, but he's completely forgotten why.

* * *

 

"This is the….the….grand hall…." Abe's voice trails off.

Exhausted at last? Cynthia wonders hopefully. From the moment they'd left the dining room Abe had been possessed of such verve and vigour as would rival the most erstwhile of their toymakers back home, expounding proudly and snappily about events of the past years. A pie eating contest. Tree decorating. Snowmen and snow ball fights, and, supposedly, some moment in time when fussy Ichabod Crane could have been found here, in this hall, reading The Night Before Christmas. Cynthia heavily suspects that was jest. It was very plain to see upon meeting the man there wasn't an ounce of spirit in him. It gave her slight anxiety that Abbie had caught his eye.

Abbie is a grown woman in practice and theory but she's young of mind and heart when it comes to love. She doesn't want Abbie to waste time with a man that would not bend, when her mission is so important. Love, is no frivolous matter. She'd half heartedly listened to the litany of things Abe described, emerging from the fog only when she hears his voice fade away.

Abe at her side has gone still and wistful, a distant look in his eye that unwontedly tugs at her heart. Cynthia knows that look, she's worn it many times, seeing her own face in the mirror.

The face of longing for something long past and gone. Not to be returned. Never replaced. Singular irretrievable. Lost.

She clears her throat delicately. He cants his head over his shoulder, as if he'd forgotten she was there, before he turns around and an apologetic sad cousin to a smile creeps across his face.

It jars Cynthia to discover she preferred him boisterous and loud.

"Grand hall." Abe carries on, his voice seems laboured with a memory that won't let go. "We hold….we've held….weddings…..bloody hell you'd think I was over this by now," he curses, scrubbing a hand roughly across his face and beginning to pace. "My apologies, give me a moment," he begs, cramming a hand in his mouth he lets out a rough yell. It muffles slightly but the room carries it all the same.

Inhaling deeply Cynthia approaches and lays a hand on his arm. "What happened here"

He jolts at her close presence and then laughs bitterly. "…….The year  I bought this place….I was so hopeful, and excited….I love Ichabod like a brother, but it had never been my intention then, for us to run the place together. My fiance and I bought it. We were….we were supposed to be the love bird owners. Three christmases ago, I walked in on them decorating the tree for our wedding here, and there she was…." His eyes dart quickly to hers and for the first time it crosses Abe's mind to hold his tongue. "We weren't a match." he says instead. "I broke it off, and her and I cut ties, entirely……Ichabod bought her share. Roped into my dreams even though he detests it."

Well, he's considerate, Cynthia thinks, her opinion of Crane shifting. He may be….. _less_ than welcoming, but he comes through for his friends, people he cares about, in his way.

"We have a number of weddings here through the year, I've lost count how many, it would be just my luck for the place to become the  place for happily ever afters,but….I haven't, there hasn't been.….I don't allow, Christmas ceremonies."

Even suspecting she'll come to regret the gesture, Cynthia gives his arm a light comforting squeeze. "There's no expiry date on open wounds. Unfortunately. Raw and painful before this date."

On his part Abe has always done a fair and decent job of avoiding the hall after all this time. August Corbin, beloved in town and Sheriff has  gladly taken on the role of acting host on his behalf for nearly all events that are held here. It's his own exuberance to show Cynthia around that found him striking boldly, without thinking,towards the hall that still harbours a bitter memory. A dream and love and trust that he had invested in Katrina, shattered at christmas time. A dull, numb ache.

He glances at the fine fingered hand on his shoulder that squeezes once more before falling away, primly back to her side. "I take it you're acquainted with wounds."

Cynthia's mouth quirks. "My husband passed suddenly. Abruptly, three years ago. I should have seen it coming, his line of work, the toll it took, but it surprised me all the same." she sighs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. " They aren't the same breed, but know that pain does fade, in its time, Abe. In its time." a small smile breaks on her face suddenly. "At least, that's what my friends tell me." her shoulders shake with a fond chuckle. "They are and have been affected with the most insistent bout of cheer and optimism, I'm sure if it hadn't been for them I wouldn't have carried on."

Slowly they turn and begin to meander back out of the grand hall. Abe feeling less uncomfortable and now intrigued as Cynthia talks about her friends. "I'd believe that," he says. "Abbie's overflowing with it, I felt like the world was big and bright when she walked in….well, when _both,_ of you walked in. The place felt transformed." Cynthia glances at him sideways, wondering exactly whom it is Abe means to pay the compliment.

He's certainly less dour than his counterpart, and it's not very hard to picture him dressed up in a red suit. But she's troubled to discover that picturing him that way makes her the slightest bit queasy."Abbie has that effect on people," she replies. "Runs in the family."

"Are you related then?" Abe asks eagerly. "Because you have that effect, certainly, you did on _me_ ,"

And Cynthia is ten times more dismayed with the smug self satisfied smile that she feels taking up residence on her own face.

They only arrived today.

And she thinks…. she thinks Abe might be flirting with her.

Grief, she might be flirting, _back._

* * *

 

Down the halls of the university, a stair well, her heels clicking and clacking happily beside him she easily keeps up with his stride as he descends, down, into the darker dimly lit hall and then they are upon the doors he loves so much. That house all of the history and relics that fascinate his mind and carry him far far away from the fuss and bustle of the world outside. Certainly, they distract him from carols and trees and the insidious business of bankrupting himself buying gifts, were it he had any one he cared to shop for.

He opens the doors, gracefully, and gestures for Abbie to go ahead of him. Her red skirts swish on the floor. Even though he delights in the place, he expects her to be puzzled, overwhelmed, and then put out by the must and ancestry of it when ---

"Oh!" she exclaims, sprinting quickly to a work table and grasping a red gem in her hand. "The Eye of providence, I've heard of this, it---"

"You've what?" he gasps, shocked.

Abbie looks at the gem as if it's an old friend. Generations of Claus history has been available to her, her whole life. Part ofthe role is traveling the world and that includes also knowing it, the history, the myths. The libraries at Poleasis are vast and would rival some of the most top tier universities put together. But there's always more to learn. She seems to ignore him, as her eyes latch onto a parchment, scribbled in an ancient forgotten hand.

At the door still, he watches her, rapt.

He's dumbfounded. He's thrilled. He's terrified. He's never encountered this sort of enthusiasm unveiling the archives. It's exciting and a little scary to imagine anyone could match his fervour.

Eye still in her left hand Abbie reaches to touch the paper with her right, barely registering the startled yelp Crane makes as he dashes to her side. Her lips move softly, translating, and her face lights up with recognition as she looks at him. A truth he doesn't wish to discuss dawning on her face.

"Ahem! Miss Mills," he declares. "I appreciate your….unexpected…vigour, but I need these for research, if you don't mind," he tugs gently on the paper she was reading stowing it, and all of the others out of reach. And once he's done that, takes the stone from her hand, momentarily flummoxed by his fingers grazing her warm palm, setting it on a high shelf.

Abbie watches him amusedly. Being reared with industrious elves, there is no such thing as a shelf too high, but that's not something he needs to know, just yet.

When Crane turns back around Abbie has wandered elsewhere, to an antiquated globe that she spins wistfully. It's only been a days travel but the sight of the globe makes her a little homesick. It's almost like the viewing one they use back at the North Pole. Before he can reach her side, she moves off to a tapestry on the wall, stroking it with wondering fingers, and then to the books, picking them up excitedly and flipping through, if he didn't know any better he would say she was reading them, but that's impossible, he's spent years learning these dead languages, this….event planner couldn't possibly have any need for such rigorous academia, why would she, but there she is making rounds of the room, walking and reading with book in hand, and unceremoniously seating herself in one of his chairs. He follows there, taking the opposite seat, and sitspatiently until she lowers the book and closes the lid gently, setting it aside. She looks ahead at the table that sits between them, the black and white pieces. Rook. Knight. Pawn. King. Queen. She cocks her head to the side, lips quirking with the first hint of something that comes across as a little mischievous. Her eyes find his.

He raises a brow.

Without a word, Abbie reaches forward and moves a pawn, eyes still on him, challenge in her gaze.

Nothing, about Abbie Mills this day, makes any logical sense to him. Her arrival, her dress, her disposition---the gathering that crowded around her, which he has forgotten--- her unbridled fascination with the archives, he's never met anyone so excited about history and artifacts before, and now, the little flames that crackle in her eyes, daring him to engage her in a game. Nothing about her makes **_sense._**

For the first time in years, he doesn't care if they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odd thing, all those ppl gathering around Abbie wasn't it.
> 
> Did she....did she spell Crane? 
> 
> I don't think he's going to like having his memory tampered with, do you? It was just a small forgetting.....hopefully that won't be a problem.


	6. I Challenge You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> half the fun is besting the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! love hearing your thoughts!

"You're cheating." he accuses mildly, a playful tone that to anyone else would be alien.

"I am not," she demurs, studying the board. It's all for show and he'd dare say a tad vicious. After all, he only has four pieces left and he's wide open. It's a move she hardly needs to contemplate.

"I know it must be true, I've never received such a thrashing….."

"I'm better, that's all. There's no shame in it Crane. I'm still having fun, aren't you?"

His pride slinks off to lick its wounds in a corner while he attempts to muster a reply. But all he can manage is the desperate truth. "I am." he admits. More, traditional fun than he's had, in months, maybe years. Her eyes twinkle. Why does she insist on making them do that, he thinks irritably, heat rising through his being. "Would you stop that," he grumbles.

She blinks at him. How is it even worse when she blinks?

"Stop what?"

"The twinkling and shining….I'm already about to lose, further distraction is unnecessary," he quips.

Abbie sits back in the chair confused. Perhaps she spelled him a little harder than she'd intended. "Twinkling and shining?"

"That trick you've been pulling with your eyes all day. Are they contacts? A hypnosis technique?"

"Hyp----"

"It would be handy," he continues, trying to assess if there's a possibility she'll make a wrong move and give him an opportunity. "If you hypnotized your clients, you'd never have to worry over an unsuccessful event. They'd all have to believe they'd had a splendid time, no questions asked."

"I think you're the one trying to distract me," she returns, and if she must be honest, he is a little distracting there across from her, a lock of hair fallen over his forehead and chin propped in his palm in thought. She touches her hand gently to her own throat with a small burst of frost to cool herself down.

"You have me at a clear disadvantage Miss Mills what could I hope to gain from distracting you?"

She smirks as she sits forward in her seat, taking upher queen and crossing the board. "I'm not sure, but your concentration shows you tried, and it proved futile."

"Damnit." he glares. He has no recourse.

"Check, mate."

"Rematch."

She raises a brow, mimicking him from earlier. "Are you sure you want to do that, Mr. Crane? Back home, I was something of a champion."

Is she teasing him? He wonders, stomping down on the shiver that went up his spine when she said 'Mr.Crane' in a near purr.

"Oh you were, were you."

Damnable chocolate almond eyes twinkling and glittering at him with doe eyed sweetness. Confound it all. "I was. In fact," she drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leans across the table, abrupt and close, her lips brushing his ear. "I could beat anyone at any game, _you name it._ " When she pulls back there is something decidedly impish about her smile. Like a misbehaving but beloved child. Someone up to no good and fully aware of it. Someone who loves to play.

Abbie repositions herself in her chair, crossing her legs,shaking out skirts, and tucking a loose curl behind her ear, clasps her hands primly and expectantly across her raised knee. 

Crane's still recovering from having her so near just a moment ago. She smelled of icy cold winter blasts. Of cinnamon spice and peppermint. Like fresh pine trees. He's never, never smelled anything like it. He swallows. "Any game, you say?"

"Try me."

He stands suddenly, towering over her and Abbie tilts her head back to gaze at him calmly. "Then come. Let's try a sport." he offers his hand and she slips hers in it. His fingers curl over hers, warm and secure as she rises.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for an athlete."

He smirks. "Oh, it's not me you're playing against."

* * *

 

Just off the middle school grounds is an expansive field that dips down like a great wide ditch before surging back up on the other end with a lining of trees. And lining both sides, looking solemn and grave, rows, upon rows of children up to the age of fifteen, armed to their teeth with snowballs at their feet, makeshift barricades that they have erected to withstand an assault.

Crane approaches with a smug look on his face. Any game indeed, clearly she has never encountered the wrathful youth of Sleepy Hollow at winter time.

This is the opening battle. The children have made a habit of it, to hold a battle every week leading up to christmas, a tradition they've carried on for a few years, it's impressive, really. the order and ingenuity of it. And….well, once Crane got involved with an after school history program, they'd insisted he help them organize to have proper war strategies and plays. Abbie goes still beside him, breathing in deeply.

Frost gathers in her fingers.

It's just like home! She thinks excitedly. First snow ball fight of the season, with the elves and her friends, held on the elves lunch break on the first day. She feels Crane's fingers release hers as he takes his stand on the western side, his head held high as the kids cheer for him. "Professor Crane!" they call, hooting and hollering madly before their eyes land on Abbie, graceful and set apart,and go silent in awe.

"Who's…. who's _she_." one boy asks in wonder.

"Miss Abbie Mills is new in town and working at Fredericks this season to plan events. But my fellow soldiers, she wagers she can beat anyone at _any_ game. Can you imagine?" he goads. 

Their looks of awe are replaced with ones of affront. Oh they've learned that from him, Abbie muses, folding her arms politely.

"Anyone? Even us?"

"Yes!" Crane hisses. "Even all of you! The Defenders of the western borders!"

The throng turn wary eyes on her now, trying to reconcile her benevolent smile with the taunts of an enemy. "Did you really say that, Miss?"

"Dami---" she stops herself, and rallies "I know you're all excellent marksmen. But I'm a pretty good shot myself," she winks.

Their eyes all widen at the challenge and shoot excited looks at each other.

"We'll show her!" the one named Damien crows.

Crane nods his head to the other side of the gulf. "You'll have to join the opposition, Miss Mills. Try not to take the loss too hard."

Bobbing a curtsy Abbie begins making her way across the swathe of white snow, an astonishing and transfixing figure as her dress flares around her, and little swirls of snow seem to dance in her midst. Crane's breath leaves him, watchingas her red form shrinks in the distance. She's not of this world, the thought flits quickly through his mind. The regality of her stride. The calm collected cool. That once more befuddling reaction the youth had to her presence. There's something more than just weddings and parties and, events, to Abbie Mills.

The eastern side cheers at her approach, and Trey from earlier breaks ranks to greet her with the springy haired girl in tow. "You're going to fight with us?"

Abbie grins and extends her hand to the girl. "Ava, right?" she nods happily and Ava drops a small snow ball in Abbie's hands. Abbie whirls around, battle ready. "And what do you call yourselves?"

"The Avengers of the eastern borders!" Trey chimes, and a raucous war cry goes up among the troops.

"Well then, Avengers," The snow ball in her hands begins to grow, just slightly, filling and then expands beyond her palm. Frost edges her fingers and drops the temperature of it lower still, freezing cold. There's a sharp rippling crack that shoots down the borders and fortress walls the kids have erected, fortifying them, guilding them with ice frosting 'Avengers' along the walls and a swirling icy crest. Gasps of exhilaration shoot through the ranks, all of them reaching for their balls and stepping up into line beside her, flanking her on either side.From the far expanse she locks eyes on the Defenders figure head, Ichabod Crane, looking self assured and smarmy.

Abbie winds back her arm. " _Charge_."

* * *

 

His forces freeze.

The Avengers of the east come screaming at them, all at once, pouring over the hill, down and charging up to them.

It takes the Defenders a moment to mobilize, they had all been struck dumb when a sizeable ball had come hurtling across the distance of the field and slammed into Crane's chest, knocking him back nearly five feet before sliding into the bottom of a tree, slumped over, before a gracious avalanche of snow crashed on him from the branches above.

He gasps with the cold of it, seeping all down his back, shaking himself out and blinking confusion. He pats the front of his long frock coat, soaking wet, and cold, and looks up accusingly. Who on earth of the pint sized battalion had such a mighty arm? Who---

But there she is, leading the charge, her laughter dancing on the air.

It is utter chaos. Forces meet and collide and enthusiastic screams of surrender and conquering abound. And there she is, so light footed she floats, so effortless and yet ruthless and cheerful all in one go, whipping ball after ball. It soon becomes clear to the Defenders who their main target should be, watching her decimate the field. Half of the defenders lie mock wounded on the ground, still laughing and breathless before rallying to take on their comrades once again, but Abbie keeps advancing, meaning to conquer them all. Trey and Ava, like loyal generals follow close behind, giving her cover.

"Men!" Crane bellows after launching his own volley. "To me!"

There are a few blank looks before ten of the older boys and girls join him. "We must take down Miss Mills."

It's a truth that breaks hard on them. The boys look crestfallen and conflicted. The girls uneasy.

"Now, I know," Crane presses. "She's very beautiful and nice, and her eyes sparkle like the fresh snow, and she smells like the perfect cocktail of winter….. _Ahem!_ today she is our enemy! Now, at my count."

All nodding solemnly they grab their ammunition and slink forward to their wall, watching her down below as she looks up at them and begins a terrifyingly athletic sprint up the hill.

How is she running in those shoes, he wonders absently.

"Ready," he cautions, blowing his hair out of his eyes. "Aim,"

Abbie pauses a moment to lend backup to the Avengers in a small quarrel with their opposition, they defeat them, of course, before she turns back to the task at hand. Conquering him.

Them.

The Defenders.

Their eyes meet.

No. He gulps. She definitely means to conquer _him._

"Fire!" he yells.

They rise and let the ball fly, perfect arcs in the air that beat at her from side to side, bursts of white on red velvet but she keeps coming, exhilarated, face full of open glee she throws her hands up in the air and a gust of snow rushes toward them.His people scatter, yelping with cold, whipping off scarves and scrambling for tissues in pockets that they wave in surrender as she advances, steps neatly over their wall and stalks toward Crane.

"Run Professor!" Damien screams.

Well, he needn't be told _twice._

* * *

 

"I'm going to get you, Crane," she sings after him as he dodges and weaves across the field. She stays put, lobbing ball after ball in his direction.

"Miss Mills," he hedges, ducking behind a fortunately tall tree. Just his width too. "Miss Mills….I think there's been---woo!" he ducks back just as a ball whizzes by him. He pokes his head around to speak. "A misunderstan---ah-ah-ah-ah" he chatters, ducking another one.

"Oh?" she calls jovially. Tinkling giggling voices ring behind her. When he checks around the tree Crane is graced with the most unlikely truce. Defenders of the western borders and Avengers of the east, joined behind her, all looking very red nosed and cheery cheeked, flakes on lashes and matted into hats and boots. But smiling smiles so wide Crane feels sure he's in a world of trouble.

"Mutiny!" he declares.

More laughing.

"This is mutiny! I am…."

"We can't hear you Crane, come out from behind that tree" Abbie entreats.

He knows she beckons him for slaughter, yet he obeys. He emerges, hands raised above his head. "I concede. I yield."

Abbie approaches him, and the crowd of children titter excitedly. He bows his head, shivering, preparing for snow to be squashed on his head, down his shirt.But then her footsteps stop, and he looks up at her and is confused by the expression on her face.

She reaches one hand forward, brushing it gently, tenderly through his hair, down the back of his head up to his cheek. "That opening throw hit you harder than I'd meant to," she whispers, face remorseful. "Are you alright?"

He gulps. "Yes, Miss Mills. Very."

Relief washes over her. "Good. This was very fun, thank you for inviting me."

Crane nods dutifully, as if this is what he'd intended all along.

"We're all very tried. I believe you said you yield?"

His lips press firmly together and he gives another nod, more curt this time.

"They need to hear you," she says, smiling.

"I yield." Crane grouses. "The Defenders of the western borders yield…this battle."

Trey rushes forward and grabs Abbie's hand, raising it in the air. "Avengers win!" he caws.

There's a small amount of playful trash talking, warning about next week, just you wait. But all in all, the kids help one another dust off snow and trudge away from their battle field, cold and in need of warming up.

They watch them go, and then Abbie helps Crane to his feet, wrenching with a surprising amount of force that throws their balance and down they both go this time, Crane landing on top.

"Oh! oh my Miss Mills---"

He's cut off by her chortling beneath him, nose wrinkling adorably. Her beautiful brown skin is rosy in her cheeks, and there's a little snow still, just melting in her hair. "Don't know my own strength," she laughs, playfully patting his arm. He raises himself up, just enough to not be crushing her but over just the same and looks down into her eyes. This has all just been one shockingly eventful day, but by God, he thinks he doesn't want it to end. He can't seem to regulate his breathing.

"No," he breathes. "You don't."

The laughter dies and then Abbie is just looking at him. There is winter in him. She thinks wonderingly, of his pale skin and his icy eyes. His dark and golden locks, remind her of crackling wood in a fire. For a minute, brown eyes into blue. "You know," she says softly. "Your eyes twinkle too. Right there," she puffs, air frosting up between them.

"Let's…..let's get going back to Fredericks," he says at length. "Get ourselves warm." he rolls off of her and slowly gets her standing. He helps dust off the snow, relishing fleetingly the feel of her dresses fabric beneath his fingers. It's so soft. And warm. Like her. Stop it, nonsense, behave, man.

He offers his hand.

Abbie glances at it before leaning up on her tiptoes to his ear. " _Race you_ ,"

And she's off like a shot.

Crane flounders before he gives chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my what will happen when he catches up to her?


	7. Could It Be

Abbie beat him, just barely, but she had certainly given him a run for his money. She presses her hand triumphantly to the front door of Fredericks and then whirls around, face flushed and panting, beaming at him with the glow of victory on her face, unfazed by the way he slowly advances on her, huffing breath and looking ready to lecture. "You. Are the most, impossible, incorrigible…..charming, arrogant, doe eyed creature I have ever met, and if I never have another day like this, Miss Mills," he heaves a great sigh as if relieving himself of a burden or duty he'd grown rather fond and attached to. "My life will pale in comparison from hereon out."

Abbie's smile twinkles bright at him, growing wider as he begins to do the same. His eyes dance, shimmer, something within him sparked into life, a laugh begins to brew within him.

Joy.

Unfettered frivolous, he tries and fails to remember that it's unwelcome, Joy.

The sound of her answering giggle makes his cheeks begin to turn pink and as he laughs he steps in just that touch closer and without thinking Abbie finds herself reaching for his jacket, tugging him forward before the front door bangs open, startling them both. They spring apart and Crane immediately rights himself, looking up at the door accusingly.

"Abraham" he grumbles.

"I wondered when you'd be back!" he calls gesturing for them to hurry inside. "You're both soaked! Miss Mills I apologize for whatever Bah Humbug himself has subjected you to today."

"It's alright Abe, I pummelled him in a snow fight," she replies brightly, breezing past. "I had a fantastic time" shooting one last beatific smile she lights the stairs and swishes out of view. Abe turns to his friend, mouth quirking in amusement.

" _Pummelled_ you?"

Disgruntled, Crane fusses with his coat and brushes back his hair. "An exaggeration. She's given to hyperbole."

"An endearing character trait, I'm sure," he grins. Nudging Crane's shoulder.

"What are you wheedling about," he snaps, stomping out his boots.

Abe cants his head thoughtfully to the side. "oh, I don't know, from inside, looked to me as if you were going for a kiss."

Crane turns around his head like an affronted owl. "A kiss!"

Abe chuckles.

"A woman I met this very day and so woefully riddled with an affinity for….. _merriment_ ," Crane makes a face of revulsion. "Kiss? _her?_ I barely know----"

"That didn't seem like it was about to stop you my friend." Abe continues to chortle and starts sauntering down the hall. "Come I have a menu change I want you to look over for the kick off of events. Cynthia made some revisions, but your fussy palette is my final test."

"Abe you come back here and apologize for your….wrongful assumptions of my intentions towards Miss Mills!"

"If you like the woman you like her Ichabod, whether or not you met her today…"

"I don't like her----"

"Love, then?" Abe taunts.

" **ABRAHAM** "

* * *

 

Upstairs Cynthia looks up from the checklist she's devised for holidays activities at the manor. First night is simple enough, opening festive banquet, very rustic and down to earth, a generous buffet of cookies, of course. After dinner there'll be a social period, more food and drinks, very low key to begin, some brochures, that she needs to get started on, detailing the other contests and parties that'll be held…..so much to do, and all in effort of a ruse so Abbie can fall in love? "I just managed to stumble upon Frank and that was that," she muses wistfully, before her eyes narrow, watching Abbie hum and beam in the simple act of removing her cloak.

Abbie removes her shoes daintily and excitedly, hopping from one foot to the other, calling beneath her breath "Charge, Avengers!" and then falling into a private fit of giggles. She twirls in the room shooting flakes from her fingers, throwing small little balls of snow around the room and Cynthia continues to watch Abbie very carefully, for all the world looking positively dreamy and in her own little world.

"Abbie," she ventures cautiously. "Abigail?"

"My life will pale in comparison from hereon out," Abbie murmurs to herself. She looks about to swoon, Cynthia thinks, observing her. " he called me charming, and doe eyed," she trails off.

"Abbie? Abigail? Grace?" Cynthia hisses, snapping her fingers before Abbie's face before Abbie blinks rapidly and remembers where she is.

"Cynthia?"

"There you are." Cynthia tuts, cutting her eye at her before retaking her spot on the couch. "Did you have a good tour?"

"Yes! Cynthia, this town is so lovely, and the children all came out to see me, even their parents…."

Her ears perk up with alarm. "Children!"

More confused blinking. "Why yes, of course Cynthia, you know they answer,"

"The pull of the Claus, of course but….It's so strong already? You've got to be more careful Abbie or you'll out yourself."

"They were so happy, Cynthia. I couldn't turn them away, The adults were clueless, our secrets are safe with the minds of children, but addled adults can't harm us. And I spelled Crane anyway when he started to catch wise."

Cynthia massages her temples. "You can't go around spelling people either Abbie. Claus magic is for Claus purposes…..oh no," she frowns. "You were showing off today for the locals weren't you."

"Just more kids!"

"Abbie!"

"It doesn't matter anyway---I think I've found him."

Cynthia's head snaps up. "What?"

"Ichabod Crane, Cynthia. I think he's my _One._ "


	8. Love Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some chatter
> 
> shout out to a twitter gal and her darkest timelines <3

Cynthia stands, mouth agape, a little unsure of what she's heard. "I'm sorry you think he's  _what_ "

Abbie giggles excitedly. "Found him Cynthia! I think it could be him---"

"Abbie" Cynthia starts, alarmed. A very vivid image of a crashed sleigh and crying children the world over fills her vision. And her, to blame for not having Abbie choose the right partner. "Abbie, you can't....he....he's a grouch!"

"He's so smart---"

"A  _humbug_ "

"And his eyes, oh, Cynthia, his eyes, they remind me of home, like the ice----

"---In his _heart?_ \---"

"---of a glacier," Abbie trails off skeptically, regarding her friend. "And he smiled at me."

Pinching the bridge of her nose Cynthia gestures for Abbie to have a seat on the couch. "Abbie....a....a smile....is....is no thing to hinge a marriage on...."

"Mama said she knew it was Daddy by his smile----"

"And I knew Frank because he didn't stand for nonsense" Cynthia interjects, a pleading desperate note in her voice. "Love is not... a rule book you follow. What worked for Lori, or even myself, may not prove true for you. And after all, Joe smiled at you plenty back home. If a smile was all we should have had you wed last week before we left."

"Cynthia!" Abbie cries, affronted. Chuckling, Cynthia takes Abbie's hands in her own and sighs. 

"Love, Abbie is.....it's knowing each other, inside and out, and even what you don't know, you're eager to learn. It's a calling from one soul to another, twin flames that burn bright. It's wanting different things, but wanting so many of the same ones, and whatever those dreams and goals may be, helping each other achieve them, and doing it together. Marriage is a partnership. A bond forged on the trust and foundation of caring and love that will endure rough patches and----can you see this in Ichabod Crane? so soon?" she presses, unsure. "From what I've seen of the man he _detests_ Christmas and Abbie you were born for it. It's your calling, your destiny.....Unless you have a desire to retire that none of us know about," Cynthia frowns, her stomach sinking. "You....do you still want to be a Claus?"

"Of course I do!"

Cynthia withdraws and wrings her hands. "It's never been done, from what I've heard, to not have a blood relative take up the mantle, but perhaps if it's not what you want, some sort of arrangement could be made---"

"Cynthia!" Abbie yelps. "I said I do! Being a Claus is all I've ever known and I'm happy to carry on with it---"

"You're young."

"Not so young!" she protests. 

"Compared to years here, you are. You....maybe you're curious about the world and want to learn more before settling down----you know I tried to tell Lori that we ought to get out more, I could see it in you,"

"You're young enough to be my sister, if I may remind you, while you talk like an old spinster."  

A gentle scuff on the arm Cynthia clucks her tongue. "You know what I mean. You're more curious than I ever was."

"I'm not interested in adventuring, I came here with a job to do and I will do it----"

"You can't expect me to take you seriously when you've set sights on that sour puss! I bet Ezra's given him nothing but coal for years."

Abbie's eyes light up and she grips Cynthia's hands solidly. " _Daddy!_ That's it!"

Rapid blinking, more of that doubtful sinking feeling in her gut. "What's....it....Abbie"

"The list! They keep an archive! Do you we think we could access it from here?"

"No" Cynthia replies shortly. 

"But Daddy could, he could send the files to us."

"Do you understand what sort of mayhem you court to entertain sending the old Lists across realms? Suppose they fall into the wrong hands?"

"What's anyone going to do with old lists, Cynthia?"

"Discourage spirit, for one. Write angry letters. You know angry letters are bad for the elf morale. It makes them sick. Toy production drops. We won't meet our quotas----"

"Cynthia," Abbie says sternly. "You're going down darkest timelines, Please stop. I'll request only one list. And that will tell us about Ichabod! Whether or not he's been good all these years!"

"And if he has, should I start measuring you for your wedding dress," Cynthia sneers. 

"Oh stop," Abbie chides, nudging her playfully. "We'd need the rings, first." 

"He's supposed to ask you!"

Abbie's eyes shine and twinkle. "He will, Cynthia." she says with heartfelt surety that makes her friend a little queasy. Incessant cheer one thing, optimism in the face of love is quite another. She wants what's best for Christmas and surely so does Abbie, she only hopes her friend doesn't get hurt in the process. 

"Abbie," she starts again, to offer gentle caution but Abbie holds up a hand, confident. 

"He will." 

Cynthia sighs defeatedly. "I need a glass of eggnog and a candy cane," she grouches, rising from the couch and moving to ring for room service. 

* * *

 "Well?" Abe prompts. "Is it satisfactory?"

Resting down his fork and dragging the napkin across his lips Crane gives a perfunctory nod. "It's quite good, actually," he says, mildly surprised he'd enjoyed a meal that employed such a vigorous use of ginger and mint in its spices. But he found the zing pleasant, and paired with the cookies that follow as part of the dessert course, he finds ties in the meal quite nicely. "Very good," he amends. "Which night is this for?"

Abe blinks at him. "I'd almost believe you gave a damn about the holiday preparations. Are you feeling alright?" Abe queries, lifting a hand to Crane's brow to test his temperature. 

"Oh Blast it Abraham." Crane grunts, rising from the seat, straightening collar and coat. "If you're going to tease----"

"A jest is all!" he decries innocently. 

 Crane shoots him a glare and continues to push in the chair at the dining table and makes to storm off before Abe grabs his arm. "Unhand me," Crane shirks him off roughly but Abe follows close behind. "Oh, what is it you want Abraham. I tasted the blasted festive meal, is that not all?" 

"You're in a worse mood than usual." Abe frowns. "And you were pure joy moments ago."

"I  _was not_ "

" _Come off it, Crane._ " 

He goes still, lips twitching, fists clenching. 

"Is this about what I said about Miss Mills?"

Crane makes an annoyed garbled sound. 

"Could we try that again? in English?"

"She's only an event planner, nothing more," He says brusquely. "Parties and so forth. That's all." he prattles. 

"That's not----"

"So she has a hunger for knowledge and seems well liked. She's frivolous! Absolutely frivolous, imagine making a career off of....."

"Making people happy?" Abe asks, perplexed as to why the notion of happiness remains such a point of contention for Ichabod after all of these years. 

" _BAH"_

"Is that so awful? to be happy?"

"Are you happy?" Crane challenges. "Roaming around the graveyard of marital dreams. I don't know why you insisted on keeping the place when I've seen you go completely around the grand hall if other routes are occupied---it haunts you---"

"Now wait a minute."

"Every year, this pandering to dreams and folly and family and love and it hasn't done any good to either of us! Myself no family to speak of and you jilted. And failing to date since---"

"Ichabod,"

So what if she loves Christmas and her eyes sparkle, so what if---"

"Ichabod you're babbling and being cruel." 

Crane's mouth snaps shut. 

"I know we haven't had  _luck_ with the holiday, but....I still want to try, to enjoy it. Sometimes one can choose to be happy. Choose to move on. Not always, but, we must recognize when to let, some things, go," He grits out. He thinks back on is earlier episode with Cynthia. How the memory and hurt had come roaring back at him so unexpectedly. He'd really been trying to put that behind him, but perhaps what he needed was to start facing that pain head on so he could resolve and make peace with it proper. 

At least, for the first time today, walking out of there with Cynthia striding companionably beside, he found himself really,  _truly **wanting**_ to heal from it. 

"I don't know what it is you're suggesting anyway Abraham. It's only one day a year----"

"It's a month long season, longer if you work retail---"

"Abraham---"

"All I'm saying is it was nice to see you  _consider_ smiling in someones presence for once. It was nice that it wasn't some sort of hard won thing directed at me. It was nice, to imagine my best friend might be finding a little ounce of Joy. And all I want to know is why are you offended about it."

"You well know why." Crane grumbles, turning away from him. "The whole notion of all this....warmth, is  grand ruse. It's superficial. People splurge and exhaust funds. They dress up and party and throw wealth in the faces of each other. Who got the better gift. Shops push and push to spend more, prove how much you care through money---even the family time is manufactured. How many people find themselves, barricaded in with family members or friends they can barely stand throughout the year but must tolerate them for this one day. It's....it's so empty."

"You're being deliberately obtuse, Crane. I haven't been asking you about your feelings on Christmas, try as you might to hide behind them. I"m asking why you're so cagey about Miss Mills."

"Because I like her, Abraham." he admits sullenly. "I know it's only been a day." he brushes his hair back from his forehead. "And she is only here, for this cursed time of year, and then she'll be on her way. She is just someone else the holidays will take away. I'm not about to let Christmas,  _dupe_ me again. I'm not." 

With that he marches past Abraham out to the lobby and takes to the stairs for his room. He gathers his writings and some books, some research, hurriedly stuffing them in a bag. Hangs down a few shirts and another coat and packs them away in his bag. 

He's going home to his cabin. 

Far from the Frederick's festivities. 

Far from Abbie Mills. 


	9. Check In

"Incoming call!" Sophie chimes. 

"From who?" Caroline pipes up from where she lugs a box loaded with momentos. 

Sophie squints at globe and then yells. "It's Abbie!"

Ash rises too quickly, banging his knee on the table he's dismantling. 

All across the room, Joe, Ash, Sophie and Caroline clamour to receive the call. "Abbie! Hi!"

"Hi!" Abbie calls back cheerily. It's only been two days travel since she left, but already Abbie feels a pang of homesickness, she misses them. 

"How are you!"

"How was the trip!"

"Bagged a Claus yet?"

Abbie chuckles at the barrage of questions and waves her hands about her head, clearing the air. "Wait wait, wait, no! What are you all doing?" she asks, just noticing some boxes and belongings marching to and fro in the background seemingly of their own accord---it is only the presence of feet in curled red and green velvet shoes that tells her they're being moved by elves. 

"Packing!" Sophie chimes again, gleeful.

"Packing?"

"For your parents Abbie! They're going to be moving back home once you get married, return to the mortal world, You didn't forget, did you-----oh." her face falls abruptly and the other faces mimic hers, suddenly crestfallen. "You did." Sophie says sadly. "You forgot."

"With all the excitement...." Abbie trails off. Her earlier eagerness to call about Crane's records seems silly now. Inconsequential. And sort of like a traitorous task. Here she is so eager to find her Heart of Christmas, and having completely forgotten that finding that one, her Star, will mean sending her parents back home, away from her. Really and truly, this will start a new stage of her life in more ways than one. "I know they miss how the world turns." Abbie says instead, gathering her thoughts. 

"It's just all really really fast." Caroline nods sympathetically. "We....we just started helping the pack because your folks have amassed a lot of stuff over the past few years."

"She's not exaggerating." Joe interrupts. "I think they've even got some things they shouldn't have---like I could have sworn this was dad's chair----"

"He gave that to daddy!" Abbie hollers and catches Joe's teasing smile. 

"We'll be busy packing them up for a while yet. So no rush. You've still got some time till Christmas eve, oh, Abbie I need your measurements!"

"For?"

"A dress!" Caroline thrills. "Of course I'm designing your wedding dress!"

"But---"

"Oh, never mind if you haven't found him yet, by the hook or the crook you're going to get married anyway so I might as well get started! I think I'm going to come across some of your mother's silks while I'm here.....she won't miss a few yards."

"Caroline!" Abbie groans. "Are you really eying my parents stuff while helping them move?"

"For shame," Joe scolds and Sophie and Ash roll their eyes. 

"Have you had any luck though?" Sophie presses. "Your eyes are sparkling."

Abbie blinks her eyes shut hard to the others amusement. "You're so nosey, Foster." she teases. Sophie merely shrugs. 

"That means yes. Well, you work fast. Tell us about him!"

"What's his name?"

"What does he do?"

"Whoa! Wait. That's why I called, actually." she sighs. "He's.....well, Cynthia doesn't think he's ideal." 

Their excitement abruptly flashes out replaced with concerned pinched brows. 

Ash clears his throat. ".......How come?"

"Because....he....well he doesn't seem to like the holidays......."

Ash makes a show of lifting his curtain of hair above his ear, cocking it pointedly towards her. "Say that again?"

"I don't think he likes Christmas."

"Abbie!"

"No!"

"How could you!"

"What? What did I do? You sound as if I've ruined Christmas!"

"You might! If you marry a man who doesn't like it! How can you think he'd be a good claus----"

"I can't help how I feel!"

"Maybe you should try!"

"Listen I-----"

"Enough." A voice cuts in, clear and even. 

".....Mama?"

"Mrs. Claus!" they all turn ashen and bow their heads, scurrying out of her way as Lori's face swims into view. 

"How's my girl."

"I'm well, mama, just......"

"I heard," she smirks. "Seems you have some people to convince. Top of which this man you've set sights on. It's a little early for you to tell, isn't it? A life partner shouldn't be taken lightly----"

"In my role as the future Claus this is one of the most important decisions of my life, I'm taking it very seriously."

"I know baby. Well, tell me about him." Lori cants her head over her shoulder, addressing her friends listening quietly in a back corner. "I have cookies in the kitchen." she chimes, a clear invitation to help themselves to the fresh batch and to leave mother and daughter alone. 

Joe gives a salute and hollers a greeting as he fast walks past the others before breaking into a run. "Bye Abbie!"

"Joe!" Caroline calls and stops to wave as she dashes behind him. "Bye!"

Sophie and Ash stroll along behind them, waving casually with bright smiles until it's just Abbie and her mother. Abbie exhales a sigh of relief. 

"Thank you." she smiles. 

"We all just want what's best for you, and Christmas. So come on, tell me, what is it about this man, that even though he hates Christmas, you think he'd make a good Claus, a proper husband and partner for you."

"I never said he hates Christmas!"

Lori arches a brow.  "In my experience, there are very few that fall in between on Christmas, they either love it or don't." she says pointedly. 

"He's smart," Abbie interjects. "He's a professor, and the children really love him, he helps them lead a snow fight every year! We had so much fun today! And he's got this....this trove, of relics and literature! He's curious about the world, and he likes to tease, and he loves sweets! He has an assortment of cookies and biscuits that they keep special here for him. Mama, I know what people say and think of him on the outside but......I feel sure Ichabod Crane, is what I want, what we need, on the inside. I was hoping maybe you could forward some old lists and I could verify if he's good or-----"

Lori's brows lift with interest. "Did you say Ichabod Crane?" 

Her brow knits together. "Yes, why." she regards her mother suspiciously. "Do you know him?"

Her mother sighs sadly, eyes downcast. When she looks up to meet Abbie's gaze, her eyes water. 

"I know why he doesn't like Christmas, Abbie." she purses her lips together, face clouding with memory.  "Christmas......it's......the spirit. Oh" Lori grouches and rises from her seat. "Some people, life, circumstance, batters at them again and again until they lose hope, faith. One blow, they can recover, but constant hits over and over and.....their belief, the light gets snuffed out." 

"Mama?"

"I use to visit the mortal realm around the holidays. A merry presence for those in need. I stopped once Irving had implemented his Agent program, but, it was my last trip out, trying to ease burdens of bad news in the season."

"Mama I don't understand......"

Lori wanders over to shelf and after a moment of rummaging pulls out a  large candy cane and thrusts it toward the projection. Abbie jerks back as the hook of the cane points at her before grasping it gingerly and pulling. She looks it over once it's in her hands, confused. "Is this?"

"Candyscope. This is better than looking over your father's old letters. This will show you exactly what's gone wrong for Crane at Christmas. Why he's lost faith." 

Skeptical though eager Abbie casts another glance at her mother before she taps the bottom of the cane and it flies up. Inside is the distant whir and noise of time bygone. 

"Look inside." Lori implores. 

Abbie takes a breath and does. Watching as blustering flurries clear away to a young boy, proud and stork like on a stage, so happy, but his eyes darting around as if looking for someone. The storm swirls again to show an accident on the road, so clear and visceral Abbie shudders with the crunch of metal on metal. A sinking feeling of dread coils in her stomach as the scene whisks back to the boy now rushing off the stage into an audience and finding no one until a hand lands on his shoulder. Tears spring to her eyes. She knows that hand. It's her mothers. 

"Mama," but she can't tear her eyes away as a younger version of her mother delivers the sad horrible news to the boy whose face crumples with tears, his life being crowded by police and authorities. 

"I was there," Lori's voice wavers. "When Ichabod Crane's heart took it's first beating. And it's been battered over and over since." 

Grief and sympathy overwhelm her, she feels cold and wretched. This poor boy. To lose his mother at Christmas? 

But the Candyscope isn't finished showing her things, so she watches all the rest that unfolds, conflicted with the guilt of reviewing Crane's life in such intimate detail, but also the understanding of how it shaped the man he is today. Through all the bitterness and pain, she sees that Crane has turned his heart away from the frippery and false advertising, and searches for something true, real, something that can honestly fill his heart to bursting, he's just lost faith it exists. Yet today, she saw glimmers of a man with imagination, playful spirit, and she knows she didn't imagine how he had looked at her. 

There's kindness to be had in him, still. 

She can do nothing about his pain. But she can open his eyes to things he's long abandoned. And if he wants it, he can have it. 

"Did that help you at all, Abbie girl?"

Abbie swallows thickly. "Yes, I think it has. I understand him better now. I.....I really do think he could be it, do you think I'm being silly?"

"I think everyone deserves a second chance. And in spite of himself," Lori nods again, imploring Abbie to take another look through the telescope. "He wants them for himself, too."

Abbie watches rapt, as the imagery unfurls in the present. A recount of the day. His joy spending time with her playing chess and his spellbound awe when the children appeared to her. The way he rails and grumps at Abraham now. Muttering about his disdain for Christmas and his conflicted feelings for.... _"Me"_ Abbie realizes with a soft gasp. 

Lori offers her a smile. "Follow your Heart, Abbie. May your days be Merry, and Bright" and she disconnects the call. 

Abbie hardly notices her mother has gone until the scene finishes. 

* * *

 

"Because I like her, Abraham. I know it's only been a day, and she is only here for this cursed time of year, and then she'll be on her way. She is just someone else the holidays will take away. I'm not about to let Christmas,  _dupe_ me again. I'm not"

* * *

She watches with wide eyes as he packs up his bags in a flurry, storming away from Fredericks Manor. 

_No_

Leaping to her feet Abbie runs out into the hall way, past the common area on the top floor and runs toward the window where she can see him trudging down the path towards a cab. 

_No_

Down the stairs she goes, narrowly dodging other vacationers, calling merrily "Excuse me!" as she weaves around them, she spins Abe around in the lobby, nearly toppling them both.

"Whoa there, whoa,"

"Sorry Abe, I've got to get going---"

"Where are you headed off to----"

"He's getting  _away----_ " and wrests her self from his grasp, outside into the crisp air, watching the cab as it turns down the road, disappearing from view, a hand outstretched before her as if she would summon him back, but she can't risk such a force of magic, so she stays behind, pulling that hand in to her chest, above her heart. " _Wait._ "

 


End file.
